


Captain America doesn't do blood magic...

by KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Marvel 616 and MCU Ficlets [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Constantine (TV), Doctor Strange (2016), Hellblazer, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, DC/Marvel crossover, Demons, M/M, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: I wish you'd write a fic where... Constantine meets someone from the MCU</p><hr/><p>“What’s all <i>this</i>,” John waved a hand at the probably-not-dead Captain America, Captain America’s probably homicidal boyfriend, and Stephen Strange’s workroom but also implicating ‘the Avengers, <i>good</i> guys, boring superhero crap,' “got to do with the likes of me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strange and Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sapphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/gifts).



“Strange,” Constantine said, keeping his voice level as he stepped out of the floor-length mirror into the main parlour of the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Doctor Strange spun at the sound, his officious purple robes swirling around him, to watch Constantine arrive with considerably less sparks and smoke than was customary for magical mirror transportation.

“Constantine, welcome to the Sanctorum,” Strange replied. He even smiled. It was tight around the eyes, not quite genuine but the effort was nice enough. Especially seeing as John wasn’t actually meant to be able to arrive the way he had. Must really want something. “Would you like some tea?” He waived to the tea tray next to him. The little teapot started to steam instantly. Show off.

“Listen mate,” Constantine sneered back, “whatever this is, it’s gonna cost you a lot more ‘n a cuppa. Even if it is that posh single estate Ceylonese rubbish…”

“To business then?” Strange said. His tone was jovial but the strain ever present. He poured the tea and handed the cup to John seeming to understand Constantine’s particular and slightly snide brand of ‘yes please’.

“Yeah, well. We both know you hate me guts. And you hate it even more when I show you up. So you’d only invite me ‘round for save the world level dirty work when it’s the real bleeding  _dirty_ kind ofdirty work. Ever occur to you I don’t like getting elbow deep in baby’s blood neither?”

Stephen’s smile stiffened even further but he nodded his acquiescence to the accusation.

“This way,” Strange said without further preamble. He turned to push aside a ridiculous red velvet curtain and waved Constantine through to a slightly smaller but equally over decorated workroom. 

In addition to the wall-to-wall shelves full of herbs and the usual magical paraphernalia this room also held three large trestle tables. One was set up for alchemy, one was covered in velvet and held boxes that John would be willing to bet were divination and crystal work tools, and the third… well the third seemed to currently hold the half-naked and fully unconscious form of Captain America.

“Homunculus or simulacrum?” Constantine asked.

“Neither,” said Strange. Constantine really didn’t like it when other people got that smug wizardly ‘I-know-what’s-going-on-and-you-don’t’ tone. That was his tone.

“Hmph.” Avengers - just what he bloody well did not need to get involved with. There were probably going to be aliens. John hated aliens.

Constantine was about to make his way to the table of interest when he noticed the fourth man in the room.

The bloke was almost silent and he lurked pretty damn well. But he still had a human aura and John wasn’t about to wander around Stephen Strange’s house with his senses muffled. John narrowed his eyes in the direction of the corner but mildly, because even John Constantine wasn’t stupid enough to downright glare at the Winter Soldier. He got a smirk and a wink in return both of which promised more violence than Heaven and Hell combined and John tried not to be taken aback.

“What’s all  _this_ ,” John waved loosely with his tealess hand at the probably-not-dead Captain America, Captain America’s probably homicidal boyfriend, and Stephen Strange’s workroom but also indicating ‘the Avengers,  _good_ guys, boring superhero shit’, “got to do with the likes of me?”

“Nergal,” Strange said simply but somehow even more pretentiously serious than normal. Ugh.

“ _So_?” John put down his tea (on the divination table because he could and was secretly amused by it) and crossed his arms. 

He looked Stephen in the eye. Most people don’t do that when you’re the Sorcerer Supreme and John knew it would make the bloke uncomfortable. Which was plain old funny even in normal circumstances.

Strange just raised one (definitely manicured) eyebrow into an exaggerated arch. His lips pursed and his jaw twitched slightly but otherwise the reaction was all eyebrow – like the argument was patently obvious and didn’t need actual words to be made. Typical.

Correct, but typical.

“Fine,” John agreed grudgingly (after another few breaths for the look of the thing). “But no shooting if this all goes to Hell,” he added turning to the Winter Soldier in the corner. “Particularly no shooting  _me_.”

The (maybe?) ex-assassin nodded which was apparently all the reassurance John was getting. Lovely.

“Looks pretty calm for a chap who’s meant to be possessed by a demon god?” Constantine pointed out as he approached the table at last. Lighting a fag as he went and noting the lack of reproach from Strange. They really  _must_ think they needed him. Bugger. No one ever needed him for anything good.

“Cursed probably,” Strange supplied. “Not currently possessed.”

“Currently?” Constantine pulled a flask of holy water out of one of his pockets and applied some to the good captain’s notably chained down wrist. The skin turned red, slightly irritated but it didn’t smoke or steam. So, exorcised or abandoned within the last half hour or currently dormant were both options. Brilliant.

“I  _am_ capable of conducting a Babylonian exorcism on my own, John,” Strange told him.

“Could’ve fooled me…” John said absently as he took a long drag on his smoke and considered the problem.

“That was 20 years ago, Constantine. I think I’ve improved somewhat from then.” Strange aimed for haughty but hit mildly amused instead. John smirked as he worked. 

There was a not-so-subtle growl from the corner when John continued his tests with a silver blade but John waved it off.

“You even do the bit with the sheep?” John asked Strange as he drew a small sigil on the captain. Both question and sigil curious as much as diagnostic.

Strange looked ‘supremely’ uncomfortable. Poncey wanker. But at least that solved the mysterious post-possession coma. You had to do the sheep if you did it the old way – and Strange always did shit the old way if he possibly could.

“Right,” Constantine said, clapping his hands together with mild glee. “I’m going to need a brass bowl, 2 quarts of black lambs’ blood, a crystal knife, three sprigs of lavender, a parrot, and a lot of whisky.  _Good_ whisky, mind you. None of this American swill.”

“I am sure that can be arranged?” Strange turned to Wong who had mysteriously appeared in the doorway, as he was wont to do.  Wong nodded and disappeared again on soft feet.

“And Strange?”

“Hmm?”

“After this we are  _even_ on the Laos thing, yeah.”

A pause. Then, “Naturally.” 

John huffed, cracked his neck and got to work.

This was still going to be bad, it always was, but at least it wasn’t  _baby’s blood_ bad. Probably not going to get shot, get to paint all over Captain bloody America, might get a free zombie parrot. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a whole hell of a lot worse, come to think of it.

John Constantine, of all people, really should have known better than thinking _that_.

 


	2. Getting Grimm

Bucky liked the British guy in the dirty trenchcoat on principle, he had a roguish charm. But then again Bucky Barnes always was a sucker for a scrawny blond who didn't know when to stop punching above his weight. As such, Bucky’s opinion was not to be trusted. The Winter Soldier didn’t like the guy one bit, he smelled like magic, lies and cigarette smoke. Never a good combination. The Winter Soldier knew just enough about magic to know that they should have stayed the hell out of it.

They had told Steve not to get involved with this demons business.

If there is one thing that the Winter Soldier and Bucky could agree on it was the fact that Steve Rogers aka Captain America getting hurt, wounded, or even simply endangered is sub-optimal, at best. Their primary, and first ever self-selected mission was the protection of Steve Rogers at all costs. Thus, Steve Rogers getting possessed by a demon is so extremely sub-optimal that they needed to find a better term for the level of negative feeling they held towards the current state of affairs. Something akin to ‘disobedient’ but applicable to situational status and the entirety of existence.

Steve, or the demon to be precise, had woken up about half way through the strange ritual to try and fix him. For a few moments Bucky had actually thought the situation resolved, his heart had picked up and the whole situation had seemed much more positive. He had been wrong.

The scrawny British man was currently cursing at Strange in between throwing curses at the thing controlling Steve.

Between them the two mages had Steve held back in some kind of glowing green net. Bucky was not convinced that it would last, but he didn’t have many other options than prayer at this point. And the Winter Soldier didn’t pray.

The sorcerers, or whatever they were, kept arguing.

“You forgot the bloody virgin’s blood! How do you forget the virgin’s blood and not do the bit with the sheep, you fuc-” the Brit yelled over the demon’s shrieking and the raging storm of magic inside the small room.

“You know perfectly well that wielding the power of Dormammu comes with certain ethical responsibilities, Constanti-”

“You don’t have to _kill_ the sodding virgin you bloody minded prat.”

This conversation did not seem to be particularly ‘productive’ as the therapists would say. Bucky resisted the urge to bring it to a swift resolution to the aggravation through bullets. Bucky’s shrinks would be so proud. Also, Steve’s life and free will were kind of on the line. Mitigating factor.

The thing inhabiting Steve spat out a series of strange sounds and vowels that even the Winter Soldier couldn’t translate, although he did recognise a somewhat germanic bent to the structure.

“Hang on!” Constantine said, managing to light a new cigarette with one hand while holding the other out in a bizarre gesture to keep containing the demon. “That did not sound like su-fucking-marian to me, did that sound like sumerian to you, Strange?”

The Brit seemed displeased but also amused. Bucky watched him closely and continued not shooting anyone.

“No,” Strange said, frowning. “I think it’s a second demon. Germanic, maybe Teutonic, if I had to guess.”

Strange was also displeased, but with a hint of wariness, not quite fear, exhaustion. Bucky’s trigger finger itched. Just one good, simple target would make things so much better.

“Hah! Well then, that’s simple, innit?”

“No,” Strange said, glaring at Constantine with what little concentration he could pull from the demon. “No it isn’t simple, John. Captain America being possessed by a demon isn’t ever simple!”

“Yeah, but Germanic is as Germanic does, right? And I think you were right the first time, it’s a residual curse. Those Grimms may have had a fair few rods up their arses but they got one thing right, yeah? True love’s kiss and all that bollocks. Easy. It was your kinda magic all along, mate.”

“Peggy Carter is 94 years old and currently located in Washington, I don’t think-”

“Oh mate, you are in for such a surprise. Oi, Winter Soldier?”

Bucky glowered at him in acknowledgment.

“Give the Captain a kiss for me, will you love?”

Smug. Constantine looked smug. Again, Bucky’s opinion and the Winter Soldier’s differed strongly in their reactions to the smug thing. This time Bucky’s opinion won out and they ended up grinning back at the odd little man. He winked at them.

“John not everyone-”

Bucky shrugged, shouldered his sniper rifle and edged up to the glowing green containment net. Steve’s eyes were red. Disturbing.

The demon lashed about, tried to get its head out of his way, but between the two mages it wasn’t going anywhere.

It wasn’t anything spectacular, Bucky had kissed Steve Rogers more times than he could hope to count. This time is was slightly warmer than normal. And he could feel it the moment the curse broke. An electric hot flush, and then Steve relaxed. The nets receded and Steve brought his hands up to Bucky’s face to kiss him back. Sweet and slow and just damn right.

Bucky was vaguely aware of Strange sputtering something in the background and the British guy making some kind’a snide comment. Right then he didn’t really care. He didn’t even particularly want to shoot them.

“Thanks,” Steve said when the kiss finally ended. He was looking at Bucky like he’d never seen him before. Eyes all soft and warm and Steve again. Positive. Situation optimal.

“You’re welcome, mate,” the Brit said, taking the praise if not the blame. Bucky didn’t particularly mind.

**Author's Note:**

> I has a [tumblr](http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/) \- <http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/>
> 
> Comments are love!


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